The Way You Would Have Seen It
by lavenderrice
Summary: In which John takes what Sherlock has taught him to make his own deductions
1. Prologue

_A/N: Dear readers, I hope you enjoy this display of my feelings after the fall. I don't want to say to much, but I'll give the usual disclaimer. I do not own Sherlock. BBC1 does, along with its trolling writing staff. _

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><p><em>The Way You Would Have Seen It.<em>

When Mrs Hudson left me alone before the grave of the wisest man I'd ever known, as painful and sharp as using the past tense was, I felt as though I couldn't breath. The sky was a blaring overcast of clouds, but blinding light still managed to filter through and throw my reflection on your glistening grave marker. A subconscious tremor wracked my left hand as I swallowed hard. This would be it, then.

"...You.. you once told me once" I cleared my throat "That you weren't a hero." I exhaled in a sighing manner through my nose. talking to you in this way... it was more difficult than I'd ever imagined it would be. I could feel a lump raising in my throat and a burning to follow it. "there were times I didn't even think you were human, but lemme tell you this... you were the best man" I paused again, forcing myself to continue. "the most human, human being that I've ever known" I glanced away and then turned my gaze back on your tombstone. "and no one will ever convince me that you told me a lie... and so... there" I exhaled sharply and looked around, then placed my hand gingerly on your grave. "I'm.. so alone" It was getting harder and harder to speak. "and I owe you so much" tears stung at the corners of my eyes as I turned around. I couldn't allow you to see me cry. It was a silly thought really, considering there was no way you would have been able to see me, but just in case. I began to walk away when the thing I wanted to say most fought against my resolve. I had to say it. I had to ask you one last request. One more Miracle. "but please just one more thing, one more miracle, Sherlock, for me. Dont." I blinked. "be" I tried hard to swallow back my emotions and keep my voice strong. "Dead." I choked out in barely a whisper. "Just for me, Just... Just stop this" I heard myself pleading. I looked to the ground, sobbing under my breath and trying to wipe the tears from my eyes. I took a few moments to compose myself and tore myself away from your grave. I wanted to badly to fall to my knees and cry for you to return to me. I wanted to pound the ground and scream, but the miliatry man inside of me refused to stoop down to that level. Sherlock...

The grass crunched under my feet as I plodded off with a heavy heart and eyes threatening to fill with tears again. It was only on a second glance back that I noticed it. A tuft of wild black curls, the sun's choked light reflecting off pale eyes, and a quick glimpse of a pair of familiar high cheek bones. That image graced my eyes for such a small moment that I had to immediately turn my head and shake it off. I was hallucinating. I had to be. You couldn't be there, I'd just been in front of your grave. I may beg and plead but reason poisons my mind. All logic tells me that I'm wrong, all reason points to me having gone insane... Yet I held onto hope still.

I remember what you taught me, Sherlock. Believe in what you observe, and observe what you see. I saw you that day Sherlock. I know I did. I cannot accept that you are dead, even if the stone a couple meters away weighs heavily in my mind. Because the reason of which I speak is not the reason that you would have believed in. It was ordinary. It was plain, mundane, and simple. It was all those things you despised. So I allowed myself to believe in what was probably just a delusion.

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><p><em>AN – This is my first Sherlock fic, so I do hope I've kept John in character. This was just a prologue detailing what I'd thought would be going on in John's mind. I may or may not throw in some chapters with Sherlock's thoughts in the same manner I presented John's with. If I do the chapters will alternate. One will be John, the next will be how Sherlock sees things._


	2. The game is on, Sherlock

_A/N Oh my, I actually got some reviews in just 1 night!~ Thank you so much! 3 I'll answer them here._

_-Musicalsince'96Maddie – I promise there will be some fluff in future chapter, the hurt and comfort tag isn't there for nothing! Right now I've got to establish a few things. I'm glad I was able to capture Martin Freeman's BAFTA winning BAMFness! Thank you so much. _

_-Lady Elrayen – Don't worry, I'll be patching up some hearts soon [or breaking more~] _

_I apologize for any typos or grammatical errors that may have been present in my upload last night. It was rather late and I wanted to get this story started before someone else beat me to the punch. In my haste I posted something laden with error. I'll be proofing this before updating. _

_ The following is in John's mind. Next Chapter will be Sherlock's clever mind. I'm excited to be honest. _

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><p>The Way You Would Have Seen It<p>

-Chapter 1, The Game is On, Sherlock

After my deduction the other day I awoke this morning to painfully dry eyes. Blast, I hated crying. This had become a sort of routine; waking up with a wet pillow and dry eyes. I really, really hated it. It was so hard to wake up in this flat with you not here, Sherlock. I couldn't will myself to leave though, not after yesterday. You were alive. I'd seen you. It wasn't just a delusion, that was my observation and I was sticking to it.

The floorboard of the flat creaked when I pulled my legs around and planted my feet on the ground. I listened for any signs that you had returned to me. The awful sound that came from your violin when you were bored, or even the rare beautiful sound that came from it when you were composing. The sound of gunshots piercing our walls, your pacing, your talking to me despite my obvious lack of presence. I listened and heard nothing. Exhaling sharply I pulled myself to my feet. Here we go again.

London wasn't the same without you Sherlock, and neither was I. After taking a step I promptly lurched forwards at the pain that shot through my leg. That damned leg. Try as I may, I couldn't convince my leg to stop hurting. Psychosomatic indeed. I reached for my cane for the first time since we'd agreed to share 221B and closed my eyes. My foot tapped on the wooden floor as I counted backwards from 10. I was told it was a way to ease frustration and pain, but I was quickly learning it was all just something the doctors told you to shut you up. After my counting I took a step froward on that bloody cane and stopped again. Using that cane was acceptance. I refused to accept that I was walking the streets of London without you. I tossed the cane aside and stepped forward painfully. I wasn't coping with it alone though. No, quite the opposite really. Wherever you were I was certain you felt my pain all the same. We may not be side by side, but we were still walking the streets of London together. You can't fool me, Sherlock.

I'd taken to having breakfast with Ms. Hudson since you left us. She misses you too Sherlock, really. I limped down the stairs and towards the smell of Ms. Hudson's wonderful cooking. Scones and tea for breakfast from the aroma. She heard me coming and opened the door for me before I was able to reach the bottom of the stairs.

"Oh there you are John! Breakfast is just out, hurry now before it gets cold." Her face was plastered with a sympathetic smile that broke my heart. She could see right through me. She was always so kind, especially after what happened with you. Even though she was shaken and upset as well, she tried to appear happy for me. I just wanted to hug our landlady and then beg her to stop burdening herself so much.

"Ms. Hudson, you've outdone yourself again." I cracked her a small smile and found my way to her table.

"John dear, you flatter me." She waved off my compliment. "and what is this all about, you limping again. Its not right." She fussed, motioning to my leg as she sat down with me.

"Oh this old thing? Its nothing to worry yourself with." I flashed another small smile, but it wasn't a real one. I observed that she didn't believe me. Her brow crinkled with worry and she reached across the table, putting her small hand on my broad shoulder.

"John..." She trailed off, conflicted about saying something on her mind.

"I'm fine. The leg is just acting up again." I took a bite of my scone and a sip of tea, then gazed at my reflection. My eyes were red and puffy. So much so that I could see the irritation in my tea. I sighed.

"Now John... Sherlock he..." I could tell she was having a hard time telling me what she knew I didn't want to hear. I could feel tension bubbling up in my chest.

"Ms. Hudson..." I warned, but she didn't stop.

"I know the wound is still fresh John, but you shouldn't torture yourself... Sherlock wouldn't have wanted to see you this way... You were truly his only frie-"

"Ms. Hudson! please!" I lost my temper and buried my face in hands, slumping over the table. "...please..." I pleaded. "Please don't finish what you were about to say." My shoulders shook and my eyes stung again. I exhaled and took a sharp breath of air in, holding it until I had to let it go again. I heard Ms. Hudson rise from her position and walked over to me. Her bony hand rested on my back as she tried to soothe me.

"I'm sorry dear... I hadn't meant to." Her voice was laden with worry, her lips pressed in a sad shape.

"I-it's okay. I'm fine. I..." deep breath in, deep breath out "I just need to go for a bit of a walk is all. To set my mind straight..." I stood up and limped towards the door while Ms. Hudson stood there dumbstruck. "Thank you for breakfast." I smiled weakly and left her flat and entered London. Nothing looked different, nothing had changed, and yet it was a whole new world without you with me, Sherlock... I miss you.

I found myself sitting outside the Scotland Yard, leaning against some stone structure and watching people walk by. I knew my mind could never be as brilliant as yours, but If I planned on seeing you alive again, as I was certain you were, I would have to sharpen my skills of deduction. So I sat there observing everyone I saw. Using the things you taught me to see things about people that would often go unnoticed.

"John?" A surprised voice broke through my thought barrier. It broke me from my Mind Palace, as you would have called it. I wished it were yours and I'd look up to see you, but instead I was met with the surprised face of Detective Inspector Lestrade.

"Lestrade?" I questioned back. I wasn't really sure why I was surprised to see him. He looked pale, frantic almost.

"Good to see you John, but I'm in a hurry and I must be going." I caught a glint of guilt in his eyes and quickly pulled myself to my feet.

"Hold on a second!" I grabbed his shoulder and spun him around to face me. I was right. I did see guilt. The inspector pulled his gaze away from mine again and looked away, his body language screamed 'I'm withholding something important from you.'

"John I really haven't got the time" His inability to meet my eyes made me do something very you... something so very Sherlock that I almost surprised myself.

"No, Lestrade. You've got all the time in the world." I insisted, tightening my grip on his shoulder.

He sighed. "John I know you're upset about Sherlock, but I've got something to investigate." Of course he did, which caused me to glare intently into his eyes which continued to try to elude me.

"So this is about Sherlock, is it?" I'd found the most pressing case of the century. The curious case of Sherlock Holmes, and from my deductions, so had Lestrade.

"I know you're upset about Sherlock, but listen to yourself John, how could this possibly be about him?" Lestrade tried to deter me, but I refused. I could see it in his eyes. He too believed you to be alive, Sherlock. I wasn't alone. Maybe He hadn't fully realized it himself, but he would with time. For now I'd allow him to go, but not without planting a further seed of doubt. I finally understood what you meant by the game. I had to play the game if I wanted to get to the bottom of this. The game, Sherlock, is on.

"Its always about Sherlock, Lestrade." I removed my hand from his shoulder and flashed him one of my weak smiles that I'd recently been using often. "Good day, Inspector." and with that I walked away. I could feel him staring after me. I couldn't be sure if it was in shock, surprise, or anger, but I felt rather accomplished. In that moment, as I crossed the street, I could have sworn I saw you in the crowd, smirking at me in that was you did when you would dig under Lestrade's skin for being 'annoying'.

This is what you wanted, wasn't it Sherlock? For it all to be about you?

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><p><em>AN- John is quite clever. Now that Sherlock's gone he's going to realize that more and more, or atleast that's how I feel about it. I also believe Lestrade to be clever and a bit skeptical. He'd seen how Sherlock was for 5 years. There's no way he'd accept the man to just up and die, especially from suicide. I don't see him as being that accepting. I'll develop his feelings on the subject over time. A Sherlock chapter in next~ Reviews are very much appreciated. _

_Thank you all for reading! _

_-Eve_


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